


The Boy On The White Horse

by bloodscout



Series: 18 incredibly impressive ficlets written for the 18th birthday of the frighteningly fabulous fishoutofcustard [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Kelpies, Libraries, M/M, Research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the twelth fic of the 18 fics I wrote for <a href="fishoutofcustard.tumblr.com">Lucie's</a> 18th birthday.<br/>All information comes from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelpie</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Boy On The White Horse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucie (fishoutofcustard)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lucie+%28fishoutofcustard%29).



> This is the twelth fic of the 18 fics I wrote for [Lucie's](fishoutofcustard.tumblr.com) 18th birthday.  
> All information comes from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelpie

_Boy on White Horse - Theodor Kittlesen_

Stiles is loud. There’s no other way to put it. He’s loud and he interrupts people, and he has no sense of time or place. Derek doesn’t know why he puts up with him, and he certainly doesn’t know why he researches with him.

Currently, Stiles is lost on a tangent again.

‘I always though fantasy baseball was just baseball with mythical creatures, you know? Well, I guess, not mythical, because I’ve met nearly half of the creatures I had on _my_ team. In middle school, me and my friends would play a kind of Dungeons and Dragons, but baseball orientated. Scott would always refuse to have werewolves on _his_ team, because he thought their aim was terrible. Which is ironic, really, because he _is_ a werewolf, and he’s certainly confident of his aim now. Some would say over confident. Maybe even borderline-’

‘Stiles.’ Derek growls. ‘We’re in a _library_.’ Derek taps his index finger on the table to emphasize his point. ‘Shut _up_.’

Stiles shakes his head and looks at Derek like he’s being absurd. ‘No, I was going somewhere with this.’ He promises. ‘See, I used to have a massive problem with kelpies, because water creatures shouldn’t be on a baseball team, right? Because they’re from the water. But Steven used to love them, because if you let your players get to close to the kelpie, then you’d have to forfeit them to the team of whoever owned the kelpie. So I’m thinking, that all these instructors who’ve gone missing on hikes haven’t been killed by-’

‘Stiles, I get it.’ Derek interrupts. ‘You think it’s kelpies. Please be quiet.’ He’s trying to be calm, he really is. He would just rather that the entire library _didn’t_ know what he and Stiles were researching.

There is quiet after that. Stiles even manages to stay silent when handing Derek a book on Irish lore, open to a page on water horses. There is just the soft lub-dub of Stiles’ heart beating, the rustle of pages, low whispers from other tables, and the click of computer keys from the librarian’s desk. It is rhythmic, it’s background noise, and Derek can finally concentrate

 

_The kelpie is a supernatural water horse from Celtic folklore that is believed to haunt the rivers and lochs of Scotland and Ire-_

Tap.

Ignore it.

_is believed to haunt the rivers and lochs of Scotland and Ireland; the name may be from Scottish Gaelic cailpeach or colpach "heifer, colt"._ _In mythology, the kelpie is described as a strong and powerful horse. Its hide was supposedly black (though in some stories it was-_

Tap. Tap.

Focus.

_(though in some stories it was white), and appeared as a lost pony, but could be identified by its constantly dripping mane. Its skin was said-_

Tap. Tap. Click. Tap.

Breathe, Derek. Calm down.

_Its skin was said to be like that of a seal, smooth but as cold as death when touched. Kelpies-_

Tap. Tap. Click. Click. ‘There’s mud on your face, you big-’

‘Jesus Christ, Stiles! Did you forget to take your Adderall or something?’

Stiles looks up at him, sheepish. ‘Didn’t forget.’ He whispers, and great, _now_ is when he chooses to be quiet. ‘I just… didn’t take it.’

Derek tugs at his hair in frustration. ‘Why,’ he sighs, so close to giving up. ‘did you do that?’

Stiles reaches out, and gently removes the other man’s hand from his hair. ‘I know you don’t like how I smell when I take it.’

That shouldn’t be so nice. Stiles is being annoying. He’s distracting. They’re never going to catch this maybe-kelpie-maybe-not creature if Derek can’t even read. He just growls out a ‘just try to keep still, okay?’ and goes back to work.

 

It takes a good half hour, and Derek has at least finished the chapter her was reading, but Stiles eventually starts humming. It’s not like it’s bad humming either, but it’s so hard to tune out. Soon, Stiles starts tapping his feet in time with his tune, and it’s like a fist to the face with every downbeat.

‘God.’ Derek hisses, because this is his last resort.

He pushes himself out from the table, pulls Stiles – who yelps, startled – and slams him into the shelf. Before Stiles can protest – ‘I thought we were past slamming people into things, Derek!’ – Derek slams his mouth into Stiles. The shock of it all makes it easy to kiss into the teen’s mouth and Derek licks every surface he can reach. It’s a frustrated kiss, a bruising kiss, but it’s fantastic, just like kissing Stiles always is. It’s a scary thought, but Derek think that has more to do with Stiles himself than the actual execution of the kiss. Derek sucks on Stiles tongue like he trying to take all the excess energy out, and only releases when the human goes limp against him.

‘Perfect.’ he says, his voice pleased and his grin smug. ‘Can we get back to work now?’

Stiles nods, dumbfounded, and Derek thinks that perhaps he’s secretly a miracle worker. 


End file.
